


The Tea and Queer Society

by br00kelynr1v3r



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boarding School, F/F, F/M, Gen, High School, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Marvel References, Mental Health Issues, Not beta'd we die like men, Original Fiction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Critical Role (Web Series), Slow To Update, Star Wars References, Teenagers, high school kinda sucks y'all, no logic to these chapter divisions, plot's slow but we'll get there i promise, using fantasy as escapism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/br00kelynr1v3r/pseuds/br00kelynr1v3r
Summary: semi-autobiographic original work about going through high school as a queer kid, and the role that art (specifically music, theater, and Dungeons & Dragons) plays in that. that being said, i'll be referencing a lot of outside works, and there will be spoilers. i'll try to remember to update tags as i go. this is rated teen and up, since it's about shit teenagers go through, but some people don't think aspects of teenage life are teen-appropriate, so... use your own judgement on that one.work inspired partially by Taliesin Jaffe's episode of Between the Sheets, also by august_d 's work "Liquorice"people's names have been altered for their privacy, events have also been altered for storytelling purposes





	The Tea and Queer Society

The nearest town – if you could call it that – was serval miles from the school grounds. Buildings, like the people, were sparsely populated: a coffee shop, a thrift store, a discount CD and film shop, a printing place, a couple of restaurants, the post office. It was like a vacation town that had never seen a busy season. She’d stopped there with her mother for lunch, at a tiny pizza place off the main road. In another town it could’ve been a popular sports bar, but instead it looked just as tired and empty as its surroundings. They were the only patrons in the restaurant, and the silence had been palpable. Heather hadn’t said much to her mother over that meal. Neither of them had spoken, really. There’d been a brief moment when she’d thought they might converse – her mother had looked across the table at her with that half-smile on her face, the one that would’ve looked genuine if you couldn’t see her eyes. Had they been another mother and daughter, her mother might have said something. Taken her hand, even. But her mother simply looked back at her meal again. As if everything was normal. As if, if they didn’t speak of it, the silence would cover the past like a stifling quilt. Once more in the car, she’d let her mother think she was asleep for the better part of an hour now. Heather might as well have been asleep, staring out the car window watching the grey-green blur of the trees as they passed by, punctuated here and there by a solitary cabin. She didn’t remember when the rain had started, but it was coming down in sheets now. She closed her eyes, _Just for a moment_. Heather steadied her breathing, staring into the darkness behind closed lids. Searching. _There it is_. A small spark of color. She focused on it, diving deeper into it until the spark became a wash of purple, almost like… _A lake._ Heather stopped for a moment, letting her mind fill in the scene. The mirrored surface of the lake was calm, despite the slight breeze her conscious told her was there. Oddly, the stillness didn’t feel stagnant. It felt –

“Heather?” Her mother gently shook her awake. “We’re here”.

Heather opened her eyes, blinking to adjust to the sudden light. Both rain and car had stopped.

“Let’s get your things unloaded”.

Her mother opened the door and stepped out of the car, closing it as she walked around to the trunk. Heather sat for a moment in her stupor, then opened the car door and climbed out. The scent was the first thing that hit her: water-soaked wood and dirt, and the smell of rain, cold to the point that it almost smelled like snowmelt. Free from the stuffy interior of the car, the mountain air was refreshingly cool, though she knew it would soon be chilly without a jacket. Other families were arriving in the gravel parking lot of the school as well: a short, curvy Latina girl standing with who Heather supposed was her father, though the two looked nothing alike; a pair of siblings - both tall and thin to the point they looked almost frail - and their parents; one girl who it seemed had most of her extended family there to see her off. A small line of people was forming at the double doors at the front of the old manor house, a large, redbrick structure that looked like it could’ve been transplanted from New England. With her mother, Heather grabbed her luggage out of the car: suitcase, duffle bag, backpack, messenger bag, bedding, and the old guitar that she didn’t know why she’d brought. For a moment, the two of them stood there, neither one saying a word. Then her mother closed the gap between them and hugged her, Heather returning the embrace more to comfort her mother than herself. When her mother pulled away, she had the same look on her face she’d had in the restaurant, her eyes glistening.

“Have good time at school, Bee. I’ll see you when you come home for Christmas.” She pulled Heather once more into a hug. “I love you”.

“Love you too, Mom.”

They separated again, and Heater watched her mother step back into the car, close the door, and drive away, leaving her standing in the school parking lot. Gathering her bags, Heather turned and started toward the manor doors.

**…**

The woman seated behind the folding table at the entrance had the look of most school administrators – tired and overworked, though from the look of her Hillary Clinton-esque pantsuit, she was significantly better paid for it. As Heather approached the woman’s face turned to a look of confusion, but quickly regained her composure and put on a well-practiced smile. Heather supposed that with her many bags slung about, she probably did look a bit like the happy mask salesman. Not to mention that so far, she was the only student she’d seen approach the table unaccompanied. Up close, she was finally able to read the name pin affixed to the woman’s lapel: “Louise Sharp, School Climate Office”.

“Here to check in, hon?”

 _Oh no, she’s one of_ those _people._

“Yes,” Heather replied. She pulled out the folder containing her paperwork, grateful that it had been in her messenger bag, and not buried somewhere in her backpack. “Here’s all of my registration forms, immunization record…”, she said, handing Ms. Sharp the folder. Ms. Sharp scanned over the contents for a moment, then looked back at Heather.

“Heather Beatrice King?”

“That’s me.”

Ms. Sharp looked over her roll sheet, then checked a box next to Heather’s name.

“Let’s see here… we have you down as an incoming freshman?”

“That’s correct.” _And also on the papers I just gave you…_

“Great.” Ms. Sharp ticked another box, then turned back up to Heather, still with that plastered-on smile. “Head into the foyer,” she said, pointing through the open door, “and Mr. Alexander will get you your ID, which is also your keycard. From there you’ll get your class schedule and dorm assignment.”

“Thanks.” Heather turned to leave, but Ms. Sharp’s voice stopped her before she could.

“Do you need someone to help you with your bags, hon?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Heather once more headed toward the open door. “Thanks.”

**…**

Hauling her bags toward the dorms, Heather was beginning to regret not taking Ms. Sharp up on that offer of help. Mercifully, the path was paved, but the combined weight of the backpack, messenger and duffle bags was digging into her shoulders, and the bag with her bedding kept slipping from where she had balanced it against the handle of her suitcase. Looking down at the lanyard with her new ID card hanging around her neck, Heather had to admit that it had turned out better than she would’ve thought – she’d had many horrific-looking school ID photos in the past, but this one wasn’t too bad. Unfortunately, while she was distracted the bag slipped once more, this time twisting the suitcase handle out of her grasp, sending both items tumbling to the ground.

“Shit.” She stooped over to pick them up, but then the duffle bag fell off her shoulder, the strap sliding down around where she held the handle of the guitar case. _Oh, for fuck’s sake…_ Heather moved to haul the duffle bag back up onto her shoulder, but her lanyard had somehow gotten tangled up with the strap. Thrown off balance, Heather landed unceremoniously on the ground. _Great. That’s going to be a bruise on my as –_

“Hey! Are you okay?”

 _Fuck._ Detangling herself from the mess of straps, Heather swiveled to look in the direction of the voice. A tall, gangly boy – definitely a student, based off the fact that he too, wore a lanyard – half-jogged toward her from down the path. He looked out of place, at least based on what Heather thought a boarding school boy might look like; in all honesty, he looked rather scruffy, with light brown hair hanging down almost in his eyes, t-shirt and jeans hanging loosely on his thing frame, and what looked like heavy, military-style combat boots. If he’d been wearing a hoodie, he would’ve looked like a stoner.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Heather stood up, picking a small piece of gravel off her palm, noting that she’d completely blown out the knee of her jeans in the fall.

“You want help with that?”, the boy asked, indicating the bags and – _scratching the inside of his ear?_

“Yeah, no yeah, that’d be great.” Heater picked up the duffle and the guitar case, letting the boy grab the rest of her fallen luggage.

“What dorm are you in?”

“Redwood. So it should be…” Heather fished for the paper map of the grounds she’d shoved in her pocket.

“On the left, by the basketball courts.”

“Huh?”

“The dorm. It’s…” He pointed off in the direction of the buildings.

“Oh.” The two walked in silence the rest of the way to the dorm. It was one among a series of eight redbrick buildings, each one story tall, four on each side of the main path and arranged in a square formation. The boy stopped when they reached the stoop, setting the bags down.

“I’m not allowed to go in, so – ”

“No, yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.” Heather turned away and unlocked the door with her keycard. When she turned back, the boy was still there, shoulders hunched and hands on his elbows, standing almost in first position. Seeing her look back, her shot her a grin, then made finger guns at her and walked away. _That was odd…_


End file.
